


Kiss of Death

by thecrownofthereveur



Series: Under Gotham's rainy sky [9]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:58:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5570149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrownofthereveur/pseuds/thecrownofthereveur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Gotham, no one cared about lost snitches. And Oswald was a very known one. Here, just a fool would have minded to miss him. But Jim himself, he had come to realize, was nothing more than a fool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss of Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Allowisp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allowisp/gifts).



> Well, I feel like the last installment was eons ago. I don't even know if there's any sense in apologizing now u_U
> 
> Anyway, this is the last chapter of this series. Although, there still is a big possibility that I may add a short epilogue to it.  
> I worked hard on this, I wrote many versions of it and this one appeared to be the more decent one xd. This is the end of a story that I've been writing since almost a year already and I wanted to give it a good closure.
> 
> I want thank my beatareader Allowisp for his help so far. It has been great to work with him. He has not just corrected my work but has given me his opinions and thoughts about it to help me to improve it. This last chapter is a gift to him :)  
> I hope you enjoy your reading.

Leslie Thompkins’s home was a little apartment near downtown. It was in an intersection, right above a bakery. The first time Jim saw it, after their third date, he hadn’t thought it to be too different from his own place in terms of space. At the moment, he had insinuated that he would like to see it from inside. But Leslie wasn’t that kind of woman. At least, Jim didn’t think so. She was delicate, even homely; not ever glamorous like Barbara had been. Not the kind of woman that took a man to her apartment after knowing him just a couple of weeks. Maybe that was a good sign, but Jim didn’t know anymore. Their first encounters had been mostly awkward, filled with silence that only disappeared when Jim started to talk about his job. But Leslie looked fascinated every time he told her about it. Like she wasn’t hearing about deaths or murders, but about a book or a movie she was eager to finish. Jim had found his freedom to talk about these subjects something liberating, but disturbing. The only person with whom he had ever shared this had been Oswald Cobblepot. And Jim couldn’t even bear thinking about that name right now. Every time he did, an unknown fear crept into his body, paralyzing him.

One night, during their fifth date, Leslie asked him to come up to her apartment. It was late at night and they were coming back from dinner. Jim had nodded after a brief silence and had let himself be led to the elevator, and then through the hallway. The apartment as he had expected was like his – it had one bedroom with a bathroom, a kitchen, a balcony and a living room. But at the same time, it was completely different. To start with Leslie offered him a cold drink. Just wine. But in Jim’s brain, a tiny alarm popped immediately. ‘No, thank you,’ he had said, dismissing the glass with one of his hands. Watching Leslie’s confused face he wondered if perhaps he had been too brusque in his rejection. She came back with a cup of cold coffee instead.

Across the balcony, Jim could see the full moon glowing. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone up to Leslie’s apartment. He had an early shift tomorrow and he was already tired; but that meant going back to his apartment to be alone and think. And right now that was the thing Jim wanted least. They made their way to the bedroom, soon after. Leslie’s hands were small and slim, warm at the touch. Jim was breathing heavily, embracing her waist. While passing through the hallway, he noticed a big aquarium. It was empty, not even a fish inside. He found it weird. When he fell in Leslie’s bed, cornering her body between him and the mattress, Jim thought once again about Oswald Cobblepot and fear crept in on him anew. Dread. Anxiety.He swallowed hard, remembering the look in Ms. Kapelput’s face yesterday morning, pleading him to find her son. ‘ _You don’t understand,’_ she had said on the edge of tears. _‘This time is different from the others.’_ A Mother knows these things, she had insisted. Jim wondered if this was true. He couldn’t say his own mother knew much about him anymore.

Leslie’s bedroom was as warm as her. The walls were white with some framed pictures here and there. On the dressing table, below the mirror, she kept perfumes and some lotions. Perhaps her skin was so soft because of them. Oswald’s skin was soft too, in a different way. It was deathly pale, he remembered. In past months, before Oswald took Fish’s club, Jim could lie on his bed at night quietly, staring at his blue veins. He was so skinny too, like Leslie. Then again, if Jim passed his hands through Leslie’s hips or thighs he would find tender flesh. If he did the same with Oswald he would just have found skin and bones.

Jim gulped, feeling his throat tight. Suddenly, he found himself grabbing Leslie’s waist too strong, moving too fast. He had to calm down. Keep it gentle. But old customs never die so quickly. He moaned in Leslie’s hair, sinking in the bed. Guilt. Distress. He felt astray. He had left a thousand messages in Oswald’s voicemail. None of them were answered. Across the window, he could sense the full moon staring at him. Weeks ago in the club, he had hit Oswald in the face. Not like he was a rising mob boss or the owner of a club of questionable respectability, but like he was the quivering man he had once shoved off in front of Gotham River. If he had wanted, Oswald could have killed him. But he didn’t. Where was he tonight? Jim wondered. Was he dead? Was he alive? Could he find him? He breathed, looking at Leslie’s big eyes. She was so beautiful. And yet Jim felt so hollow towards her. A lovely, childish feeling that held no desperation, not a bit of fatalist passion. In Gotham, no one cared about lost snitches. And Oswald was a well known one. Here, only a fool would have bothered to miss him. But Jim himself, he had come to realize, was nothing more than a fool.

***

When Oswald Cobblepot started on this job, he knew quite well what kind of business he was getting himself into and with what kind of men he would be dealing with. He remembered himself as a child walking down his neighborhood, seeing all those well dressed men leaning against the walls of buildings or restaurants. Oswald had found them scary at the beginning. Always vigil, never quite lowering their guards. The strong smell of cigarettes always surrounding them. His mother, as all wise mothers did, warned him against them, told him to stay away. But Oswald, when his fascination won over his fear, as with most kids of his age, didn’t pay her much attention. Now it seemed that he was paying for it. After the last events occurred in Maroni’s hunting cabin, Oswald had been terrified at the contemplations of his near future.He was perfectly aware of what was meant to happen next, now that Don Maroni knew about his secret. He knew what happened in Gotham to snitches when they were found; he had come to know it quite well in the past. And right now, tied to a chair in a dark room in the hunting cabin, his luck didn’t seem to be changing any time soon.

Oswald gave a sigh, trying to stretch his leg to mitigate its pain. But it was futile. The strings were too tight. He had been several hours in this position already; promptly his leg would go numb and he would not feel anything at all for a while. He really couldn’t complain; it had been his own stubbornness that had gotten him here. He should have taken care of Fish Mooney when he had the chance, not left it for Don Falcone to handle. Now, his responsibility was to find a way out of this. Oswald looked around him, searching for something useful, anything that could help him to escape. But there was nothing besides old moldy wood. The tiny room was almost completely empty; Maroni had been careful on that. Oswald wanted to curse just at the name. Surely his mother was dead of worry already. He wondered, briefly, if she had gone to the police. Oswald closed his eyes. He wondered what Maroni would do with him; probably kill him, maybe let his thugs beat him first. Perhaps something worse. He shivered at the idea. To his mind came, unsurprisingly, the memory of Jim Gordon’s fist colliding with his face. The thrill he felt then, the black hole on his gut filled with a strange want to give him retaliation. Would Jim miss him if Oswald got himself killed today? If he saw him like this, all beaten and hopeless, perhaps weeping a little, what would he feel? Would he feel anything? Oswald would have liked to see it. Make sure that above anything else, the detective felt something more than mere release when he was with him.

The sound of the door opening came to Oswald unexpectedly. The tall, fat figure of Don Maroni encroached on his field of vision. He jolted. The man wore a black, long coat that covered his knees. His eyes looked at Oswald from above with disdain. ‘Stand up, _Penguin_ ,’ the man told him, ‘You and I are going for a trip.’

Oswald felt his mouth twitching. What he should feel, fear or hope, he didn’t know. His leg, suddenly, didn’t pain him even a little bit.

***

Leslie grabbed the skillet with her hand and poured a splash of oil on it. Outside, the night sky was strangely clear;a light ray of moonshine was coming through the kitchen window. Leslie was making dinner. By the time shehad left the living room, Jim had been sitting at the table smiling, waiting for her to finish. This was the first time they were having dinner at her apartment. She curved her lips at the notion. A funny sensation that covered her face, her stomach, tickling to make her smile. She would have liked to open a bottle of wine. Jim however, didn’t seem too enthusiastic about alcohol these days. Maybe he had had a very bad hangover that he didn’t want Leslie to know about. She lowered the flame of the stove to add salt and turned on her heels to go back to the living room. She was surprised to find that Jim wasn’t at the table anymore. She narrowed her eyebrows, finding this odd. She was about to head towards the balcony, thinking that he was probably there, when she heard the sound of the bathroom’s door closing at the end of the hallway.

‘Jim?’ she said, approaching silently. She walked towards the door and knocked. On the other side, a strong but low voice spoke. ‘ _Where the fuck have you been?_ ’ Leslie blinked at the voice; it took her a minute to realize Jim was talking on the phone. But the tone was completely unfamiliar to her. Angry, distressed. Against her better judgment, she inclined her head to the door to hear. _‘You don’t know what you put me through. I even called the fucking morgue…’_

‘Jim, is everything all right?’ she asked, worried. There was a silence on the other side of the door. After a couple of seconds she heard Jim’s voice again. This time more calm but still unsettled. ‘ _Lee, I’m sorry_ ,’ he said apologetically. ‘ _It’s – it’s from work, it will just take a minute._ ’ Leslie looked at the door, confused. In her stomach something twisted painfully.

‘Okay,’ she almost whispered. ‘I will go finish with dinner then…’

‘ _Yes, thank you_ ,’ Jim said through the door’s wood.

Leslie hesitated before stepping back. She wondered what was so important in that call that she couldn’t hear it. Normally Jim talked about his job with her. Why was this time so different? She couldn’t deny that the detective was behaving strangely lately. He was troubled. More than normal. But he wouldn’t tell her why, and she didn’t dare to ask. While Leslie walked through the hallway she couldn’t avoid noticing a burning smell. She returned to the living room and then to the kitchen. She found with resignation that dinner had burned down in the stove. She exhaled heavily, letting her back rest against the wall.

***

Jim could tell Leslie knew something was wrong. He could see it in her look, in the way her eyes avoided looking at him too much. She knew something had changed since the last time Jim had been in this room. But she never said those kinds of things out loud, and just for that he was grateful. Jim tapped his fingers on the table´s glass, uncomfortable, and shifted on his seat. They had ordered a pizza and had eaten it on silence. An awkward silence at times interrupted by more awkward small talk. From time to time Jim took his phone from his pocket and played with it in his hands, looking at the screen. These last days in which he had truly believed Oswald was dead now caused nausea on his stomach. When he had taken his phone out tonight to find an entering call from him, relief had hit him hard, putting his stomach upside down. Jim bit his lips before looking up at Leslie again.‘It’s late,’ he said. ‘Maybe I should go home.’

She looked at him from the other side of the table. Her expression barely changed, but her eyes fixed on Jim in an unusual way. ‘Okay,’ she said calmly, ‘I understand.’

Jim blinked; in his mind he had thought that she would be mad at him. Before he left through the door he inclined to give her a kiss. She didn’t resist, but neither did she respond to it. She knew something was wrong.

‘Good night,’ he said before leaving through the door.

‘Good night,’ she responded.

Walking down the hallway Jim had the horrible sensation of being about to puke. He had to grab the railing of the stairs to not fall. When he reached his car in the parking lot and got inside, he let all of his limbs relax against the seat. In the rearview mirror, he found his reflection. He was pale. Jim turned on the car and started to drive. The road in front of him was long and lonely.  He wasn’t going home. Jim didn’t think about anything during the short travel. He couldn’t. His mind wandered as though lost in space, avoiding any deep thought. In his chest, his heart beat fast, giving slight turns of pain. He turned onto a dimly lit street, and when he finally glimpsed the shiny letters of the local, he remembered he had made a promise to himself not many weeks ago to never come near this place again. He was surprised at how quickly he had managed to break it.

***

The club was mostly empty tonight. They had closed early in favor of fixingthings for tomorrow’s big reopening.Now that all was over, most of the staff had gone off for the night. Outside, Gabe was watching the entrance with some new men and Butch was at the back of the place, arranging performance dates. For his part, Oswald sat alone at one of the tables of the bar; during the day he had watched over all the major changes in the decoration. Now, he could finally rest with the company of a cold drink.

‘Boss,’ Gabe told him, approaching the table. ‘I finished with the new guys. They’ll be starting on tomorrow night.’

‘Do you think you can trust them?’ Oswald asked.

‘I’m sure, Boss. It should be all right,’ Gabe responded. He was huge in comparison to Oswald. To see him at the face, he had to bend his neck. ‘I’ll be outside if you need anything.’

‘Thank you, Gabe.’

The man left soon after, allowing Oswald to be alone again with his own thoughts. Tomorrow was an important day, yet he couldn’t bring himself to think about it. He was too distracted. He resisted the idea of going to his chambers and sleep. The night wasn’t over yet; Oswald was expecting something, and he knew that it would come. When he heard the car approaching he had a good idea of whom it could be – he could tell it was his car, he hadn’t fixed that problem with the alternator yet. Oswald stayed calm as he heard the door being opened. Any nervousness he could have felt, he washed it out with the warm flavor of alcohol. When Jim Gordon entered and made his way towards the table, Oswald scarcely showed any reaction. Gabe had probably let him pass without much problem. People in the club were more than accustomed to him already.

‘James,’ he said with a light smile. ‘How nice to see you here.’

Jim didn’t say anything. His face was white, as if he had seen a ghost. On any other day Oswald would be already standing, walking around, playing at being a good host. But tonight he knew that this type of behavior would just have caused a major disturbance on the detective. He wasn’t here to play around.Oswald could see it on his serious face, in the contrast of light and darkness enlightening his features.

‘Could I pour you something to drink?’ he asked, half expecting to make that heavy sensation disappear from the air. His glass was already half empty.

Jim blinked at the proposition, had a look to the bottles across the bar counter. They were mostly new. Oswald had them bought just yesterday.

‘I’m not drinking anymore,’ he responded slowly. ‘Not since a couple of weeks.’

Oswald took some minutes processing this. When he finally understood he found this new knowledge both curious and intriguing. He still remembered Jim’s drunken breath on his face, his hands grabbing him by the arms to keep him from moving. He should have felt angry at the memory. But on the contrary, it just made Oswald feel shallow and incomplete. For him, having Jim even if it was in his worst moments was better than not having him at all.

‘Oh, well…’ he murmured, lifting his drink to have a last sip. ‘Perhaps is for the better…’

Oswald put his now empty glass on the table. He took a second before actually looking at Jim again. It was so odd to see him now. While at Maroni’s hunting cabin, he hadn’t been able to think about anyone else but him. Jim had stopped feeling tangible, reachable, becoming in some kind of distant dream. Finding him now like a man of flesh and bones was perplexing. How could he hold any resentment towards him, even after what he had done, if he looked like this? Maybe this made Oswald weak. It did,he was more than sure.

‘I thought you were dead,’ Jim said plainly. He was completely still, not moving a single muscle. In his neck a vein was palpitating softly.

‘I know,’ was Oswald’s dry response. Maybe he should feel guilty about that. However, he hadn’t exactly asked to be kidnapped by Sal ‘The Boss’ Maroni, nor to been held against his will in a hunting cabin in the middle of nowhere. Suddenly, Oswald heard the chair at his side being pulled back. Jim was standing beside him now and he could feel his stare right above him. Through the small windows at the entrance of the club, the light of a passing car illuminated them just for a second before fading into the distance.

‘What now?’ Oswald heard Jim asking. And at the moment, he felt at a loss for words. He opened his mouth to respond and closed it again.

‘I don’t know,’ he finally said. ‘You tell me.’

Oswald lifted his gaze towards Jim. He swallowed, trying to alleviate that knot on his throat. Jim was looking back at him with an alien expression, his mouth tight lipped with the answer inside. He didn’t say anything else. Instead his hand came to rest in Oswald’s shoulder in an easy, natural way before pulling him against his chest. By instinct he closed his eyes. The skin he felt against his lips was wet and thin. A faint sloppy touch. Oddly intimate. The arms on Oswald’s neck and back were holding him strongly, not allowing him any movement. On his ear he felt a deep heavy sigh. He felt helpless. He knew now what was going to happen. What it all meant. And his heart couldn’t help but sink in his chest, so full was it with Jim Gordon’s name.

When Oswald’s knees tripped over the chair behind him he grabbed Jim by his navy blue shirt. It was expensive, nice to the touch. He wouldn’t use a shirt like this for work. He wasn’t coming from a shift in the station. Nor from his apartment. He had most probably been at Leslie Tompkin’s house. Suddenly his afflicted whispers on the phone made sense. Oswald couldn’t avoid feeling a stroke of jealousy, rooting in his chest like poison. Once again he lifted his gaze; Jim’s face was covered by different reliefs of light. His eyes looked sad.

‘I have to go now,’ he whispered.

‘I thought so,’ Oswald said, bitterness finding his way through his tongue. Some resentment he couldn’t help showed in his voice. ‘But you’ll come back. Eventually.’

Jim blinked lightly at the words, unimpressed. Carefully, he slipped his hand over Oswald’s shoulder, letting it fall at his side like a death weight. When he left through the door, Oswald had the unsettling sensation that this had happened already a million times before. And that it would keep happening, forever, until the earth stopped rotating.

***

For a while they avoided each other. The couple of times Jim went with Harvey asking for a favor, they barely exchanged a glance. Apart from that, he did his best to not pass by the club. He had the horrible impression that if he did, the temptation would be too much to bear. He kept himself busy and tried to think of other things: he worked hard and without rest, until his eyelids started to close for the tiredness; when he wasn’t doing that he was with Leslie. They got dinner at her place; they went to movies or to a nice restaurant. Occasionally, he stayed at her apartment for days. That made time feel shorter, more bearable. It kept Jim distracted from the void in his head, from the bad ideas.

‘Do you remember what he looked like?’ Jim asked, tapping his pen against the notepad anxiously. It was half past eleven of the morning and just a couple of faces were visible in the station. There had been a car accident somewhere in the avenue across the GCPD. Most of the cops were there holding back the press and the nosey teenagers who wanted to take pictures. Jim had been on his way there when he met this old woman.

‘Well, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Since they all look alike…’

She was near her forties. She was short. Her hair blond with a bit of gray. In her face there were two wide unfocused eyes, one smaller than the other. She was here for an armed robbery. Some punk had stolen her purse near downtown. When Jim had tried to explain to her that he worked on homicides, she didn’t seem to understand at all. At her answer, he contemplated her for a moment, raising an eyebrow.

‘You know… young, skinny, with that funny hair they have now.’

Suddenly, the phone in Jim’s desk started to sound. He sighed and lifted a hand towards the old woman. ‘Please, wait a second,’ he said.

He held the phone beside his face. When the impatient voice of the Captain answered in the other line he straightened on his seat. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he told her, ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. It’s just that…’

‘Excuse me,’ the old woman said across the desk. ‘I was talking to you, Sir.’

Jim tried to not roll his eyes. All the movement around him was starting to give him a headache. The station hadn’t been like this in months. The image of a hot coffee and an aspirin seemed like a dream. Jim assured Captain Essen he would be there shortly and hung up the phone.

‘Yes, as you were saying, Miss,’ Jim said, turning around towards the woman. But she didn’t even have the time to respond.

‘Jimbo, you still have that paperwork you owe me for,’ Harvey said, passing over Jim’s desk and heading towards the exit. He was smiling from ear to ear. How he loved to bother him. ‘Remember, if you delay it too much it’ll get misfiled.’

‘Thanks,’ Jim said, his lip twitching just mildly in annoyance.

‘Sir, you are still not listening to me,’ the old woman said, offended.

Jim’s only reaction was to cover his face with his hand and rub his eyes. He took a form and a pen to start with the report. Around him everyone was moving without rest. Babbling and noise came to him making his ears hurt. Jim clenched his teeth. On his desk the phone had started to ring again.

***

That night Oswald stayed in his office long after everyone had gone home. From all of his men the only ones left were his bodyguards. He was sitting in front of his desk. The only thing lighting the room was a fire in the chimney, quietly flickering. Had this been any other occasion he would be drinking something. Even just coffee. But he didn’t want anything. He felt opaque and hollow. He had so many things, a crew, an office, his own nightclub. And still Oswald felt he had nothing. When the door of his office opened to admit a ray of light, from his dark corner Oswald received it with annoyance. Gabe’s big hand loomed from it, followed by his head.

‘All in order, Boss?’ he asked awkwardly. He had been acting like this for quite some time. Oswald suspected he had heard his and Jim’s conversation from some days ago. Even then, he couldn’t know for sure.

‘Yes, is all fine,’ he managed to reply. The words came out from his mouth almost naturally.

‘Don’t you want me to switch on the lights?’ his bodyguard asked, putting a foot inside the room.

‘No, they are fine like this,’ Oswald responded, trying to avoid sounding abrupt. Gabe retrieved his foot almost immediately. He knew better to bother Oswald when he was like this.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Goodnight then, boss.’

‘Goodnight, Gabe,’ Oswald responded. Then the door was closed and he was covered by darkness again.

***

That afternoon, Jim came back early from work for the first time in months. When he had told Captain Essen that he needed to rest, she looked at him like he had gone crazy. She asked him with a concerned expression if he needed some time off. He said no. When he arrived at his apartment it was almost five o’clock. The place was as empty as it had never been. Jim sighed just at the sight.

He dropped his keys in the bowl of the entrance and started on undoing his shirt buttons. He _did_ feel tired. In fact, he felt as if he had been emptied from the inside out. Being accustomed to working so much without rest made free time seem like a waste. In the back of his mind, something told Jim that right now he could be working, solving a case, catching the old woman’s thief from this morning. But instead he was stuck in here, suddenly hyper aware of the last bottle of whisky in the kitchen. It was the only one he had kept, the only one that hadn’t gone away down the drain. Jim had told himself that he wouldn’t drink it. That he wouldn’t need it. He didn’t.

Jim shook his head and entered the bathroom to take a shower. He just needed to calm down. After he got out and put some clothes on, for a short moment his anxiety faded. He cooked dinner with the little that was left in the fridge. He threw away all the rotten food and the empty packages. He sat at the table and ate his dinner on silence. He considered briefly calling Leslie. Then he remembered she worked until late today. No chance of meeting tonight. Jim growled lightly and turned on the TV. He switched a few channels before turning it off again. He had nothing to do, no place to go. He was just sitting at the sofa looking at nothing.

Jim got up, frustrated, and walked towards the open balcony. There, the cold nocturnal breeze touched his skin. The city below him was dark and terrifying. Soon snow would cover all of its streets. For months in moments like these, when reality crashed so hard into him, Jim’s immediate remedy had been to escape to a street of the Theater District, to the club that had once been Fish Mooney’s. He couldn’t do that anymore. Jim swallowed, trying to let that sink into his mind. Things had to be like this, he thought bitterly, trying to banish Oswald’s face from his mind. His body thin and pale between his arms. Oh, Oswald. Months ago Jim had come to this city looking for a change, wanting to prove something. Soon he had understood that it wasn’t so easy. However, he had to take his time to truly comprehend that Gotham was not a common city. It was different. Twisted and dark. Impenetrable if you didn’t get dirty first. And Jim had gotten dirty in a truly spectacular way. He closed the balcony and went back to the kitchen. In its drawer, that bottle of whisky was still calling him.

**Author's Note:**

> The kiss of death, from the Italian "Il bacio della morte," is the sign given by a mafioso boss or capo that signifies that a member of the crime family has been marked for death, usually as a result of some perceived betrayal. The "kiss" has also been used as a terror tactic to aid in extortion or debt collection by reducing victims to a state of panic where they will commit to anything to save their lives.
> 
> Obviously, that isn't the story here. But I thought it would be fitting somehow.
> 
> I decided to not show too much of Oswald’s perspective on this chapter. Mostly because we already know all of what happened to him with Maroni in those episodes, so I found useless to tell it again.
> 
> In a time from now I have wanted to give this a more emotional deepness than the one it had at the beginning. Mostly because Gotham itself has done it too. In fact, I was very impressed to re-read the first chapters of this series. I must say that now I think they had many flaws and that they could have been a lot better if I had put a major effort on them. However I do think that edit them now wouldn’t be right. That’s the story I wrote, I can’t change it.
> 
> I'll be very happy to know what you think about this last chapter, and if you'll like me or not to write an epilogue. I know that the end is rather ambiguous.
> 
> That would be all I guess. Thanks for having read this so far. I really hope it was worth your time :)
> 
> Here's my tumblr if you'll like to follow me: the-local-stigmatic.tumblr.com


End file.
